


scripted

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Kabuki Hanzo, M/M, Nipple Play, Ronin Genji, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 12:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: He walks over to his dresser and admires himself in the mirror, examining the bold lines of red and white that paint his face, looking for any kind of smudge or smear that he needs to touch up--and he startles as he notices a shadow lurking in the corner of the room, leaning casually against the wall.Hanzo whips around, grabbing for the first weapon he can feel on the dresser: his paintbrush. He clutches it in a white-knuckled fist and hisses, “Who are you? How did you get in here?”The figure moves, shrugging off the wall and stepping closer, and Hanzo brings the brush up in front of his face, baring its blunt, wooden end toward the stranger.“Answer me! Don’t move!”“Am I allowed to move my mouth, if it’s to answer you?” The man’s voice is familiar, and all it takes is him looking up--the shine of his amber eyes under the brim of his straw hat--for Hanzo to relax against his dresser, the grip on his paintbrush going slack.“...Genji?”





	scripted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muja/gifts).



The play has just come to a close--with the overhead lights returning to their full brightness, Hanzo rises to his feet off the stage floor amid the crowd’s applause with his heart racing. The actress playing Ohatsu easily wriggles out of the ropes Hanzo had tied her with and comes forward, taking his hand; together, they dive into a low bow, and slowly walk off stage to the cheering sounds of another successful performance. 

Backstage, the actress politely takes her leave, and Hanzo lets her go without saying goodbye--they have their third show of the night in a little less than an hour, and if he’s honest with himself her nasally voice is already starting to grind on his nerves. He weaves his way through the hustle and bustle of the stage crew that work to reset the scenery and props, and finally manages to make it to his dressing room.

Inside is peaceful: the room is quiet, cool, and smells faintly of incense. Hanzo carefully shucks off the heavy costume robes of Tokubei and hangs them on the portable rack tucked against the wall, leaving himself in nothing but his fundoshi--the relief is instant, the faint sheen of sweat over his chest and in between his shoulders working fast to wick the heat away. He’s tired, but in a good way; in the way that has his muscles buzzing, the semi-high of another perfect show making him feel light and airy. 

He walks over to his dresser and admires himself in the mirror, examining the bold lines of red and white that paint his face, looking for any kind of smudge or smear that he needs to touch up--and he startles as he notices a shadow lurking in the corner of the room, leaning casually against the wall.

Hanzo whips around, grabbing for the first weapon he can feel on the dresser: his paintbrush. He clutches it in a white-knuckled fist and hisses, “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

The figure moves, shrugging off the wall and stepping closer, and Hanzo brings the brush up in front of his face, baring its blunt, wooden end toward the stranger.

“Answer me! Don’t move!”

“Am I allowed to move my mouth, if it’s to answer you?” The man’s voice is familiar, and all it takes is him looking up--the shine of his amber eyes under the brim of his straw hat--for Hanzo to relax against his dresser, the grip on his paintbrush going slack.

“Genji?”

“Hello to you too, anija,” Genji says, crossing the room in a few swift strides, his dark robes swishing quietly around his ankles. When he pulls off his hat and sets it on the dresser, there’s a smirk on his face; and he leans in like he’s going for a kiss, only stopped by Hanzo’s fingers pressed against his lips.

“What are you doing here?” Hanzo hisses, looking around the room like he’s afraid more people will suddenly start appearing. “You know you can’t be here--how did you even get in here?” His gaze flicks over, finding the green hilt of the sword tied to the ronin’s back, and his eyes narrow. “Shimada Genji, did you--”

“I didn’t hurt anyone, no,” Genji says, hands held palms-up in the air and his grin widening a little. “But I heard your show was in town…” He trails a single fingertip down the line of Hanzo’s throat, following the slopes of his muscles across his broad chest, then rubbing lightly over one inverted nipple and delighting in the shudder that races down Hanzo’s spine. “...and I just had to come see you. It’s been so long, anija. I missed you.”

“You’re the one that insists on living on the road,” Hanzo counters, but his voice has gone a little weaker, a little breathy; Genji crowds him in against the dresser and Hanzo lets him, tipping his head back to look up into his younger brother’s face properly. 

The months he’s been away have left their mark on Genji’s face, but he wears the rugged look well: with a hint of dark stubble around his chin and up his strong jaw, a sunkissed bronze tone to his skin from the open sky he rides beneath on his contract missions. His hands are calloused when they lay flat on Hanzo’s chest, palms placed squarely over the cute little dips of his nipples.

“You know I take my jobs to keep you fed, and housed, and clothed…” Genji trails off with a quirk to his brow. “Although at the moment, I must say it doesn’t seem like you’re taking full advantage of my funding.”

Hanzo feels his cheeks flush with color, and finds himself keenly aware of his almost-nudity; he squirms a little, pressing his thighs together to hopefully dispel the faint tendrils of heat that coil low in his belly. He can’t help it--whenever Genji comes around after his long absences, Hanzo finds himself kicked into overdrive, made reckless and downright foolish by his younger brother’s presence.

It’s like his body knows that his other half has come home.

“You caught me between shows,” he says, and he knows the words are a mistake the moment they’ve left his mouth, the instant that Genji’s smirk turns hungry.

“So you have some free time, then.” Genji licks his lips. “Good.”

Before Hanzo can protest, Genji has dropped his head down and fastened his lips around the dusky oval of Hanzo’s nipple, his big hands cradling the smooth expanse of Hanzo’s shoulder blades to hold his body up toward his mouth and keep him still despite how he squirms. Hanzo lets out an undignified little yelp at the contact, the suction making him arch up into Genji’s lips--and he goes to slap a hand over his mouth but thinks better of it at the last second, clenching his fist in the air near his cheek to keep himself from smearing the makeup he’d so carefully put on before the show.

Genji glances up at the movement, his lips curling into a smirk against the reddened skin of Hanzo’s pectoral; his tongue delves into the shallow valley of Hanzo’s nipple, trying to coax the little bud of flesh to harden amid the breathy gasps of his brother.

“Hanzo,” he chides, pulling his mouth away just enough to free the patch of skin, licking at it with the flat of his tongue to soothe the reddened flesh. “Have I been gone so long that your body has forgotten me? Or are you just feeling especially shy?”

Hanzo keens in response, biting his lip as Genji’s calloused fingers find and tease at his nipples, kneading at the little dips with intent--he wants them exposed, wants them perky and open to all kinds of torment, and Hanzo can’t deny that he does, too. It seems like every time he gets self-conscious about his chest Genji is there to spend hours worshipping him, and this is no different; Genji’s mouth returns to Hanzo’s tits, his tongue laving over each little divot to taste the faint salt of Hanzo’s sweat, and Hanzo tips his head back with a weak, breathy noise. 

“Genji…”

“That’s right, anija.” Genji finally breaks away from Hanzo’s chest to dive in with his mouth, instead--slamming their lips together to kiss him hungrily, feeling how the oily paint smears messily between them. He licks his way into Hanzo’s mouth and only pulls away when his lungs demand air; and when he does it’s to find Hanzo staring back at him with wide eyes and kiss-swollen lips, the crisp lines of paint over his cheeks and jaw made blurry. Genji grins at the sight, cupping Hanzo’s cheek in his hand and ruining the paint further, covering his palm in a bright mix of red and white.

“You look so pretty with your makeup ruined,” he says, his voice a low, hungry growl. Hanzo shudders in response, leaning back against the dresser more--it leaves his chest bare, exposing the cute little valleys of his nipples, and Genji can’t help but take advantage of that. His fingers find the dusky skin of Hanzo’s areolas and start to knead and tug at the little mounds, smearing the dregs of paint across his soft skin and marking Hanzo up, making him keen. “And your shy little tits...so cute, anija. Have they missed me, too?”

“A-ah…” Hanzo bites his lip and nods, unable to force the words past the hangup in his throat; but when Genji’s hand moves down, away from his tit to instead grope at the bulge in the front of his fundoshi, Hanzo can’t keep his moan at bay. 

“That’s right,” Genji purrs, rubbing and squeezing at Hanzo’s stiffening cock through the thin fabric and delighting in how he squirms against the dresser. “I know some parts of you that have missed me dearly, anija...and what kind of lover would I be, if I didn’t reintroduce myself properly?”

He grabs Hanzo by his arm and spins him around, pressing between his shoulder blades to bend him over the dresser; and he runs one hand down Hanzo’s back, over the barely-trembling muscles, leaving a faint trail of smeared paint in his wake. His hand finds the supple curve of Hanzo’s ass and squeezes, then gives the plush muscle a swift smack, grinning at the yelp he earns and the faint pink mark he leaves behind on the soft skin.

He’d almost forgotten just how much he missed this.

“You’ll have to be quiet, now,” Genji says, giving the fundoshi a few mean tugs between Hanzo’s cheeks--making the muscles in Hanzo’s thighs jump, pulling a soft, undignified whine from him--before he tugs it to the side and bares his brother’s dark hole to his hungry gaze. “We can’t have anyone coming in here to see what the lead actor is doing, can we?”

Hanzo shakes his head, moving one hand beneath himself to grab at his cock; it’s already stiff and heavy between his thighs, wetting the front of his fundoshi with eager drops of pre-cum. His other hand fumbles blindly in the dresser to his left until his fingers close around a small vial of oil, and he holds it out behind himself, all but thrusting it into Genji’s hand.

“Genji,” he breathes, turning his head enough to look over his shoulder at his brother. “Here--hurry, please, I’ve waited so long…”

His voice trails off to the sound of Genji’s chuckle as he takes the offered lube. “Oh, anija...you’re so sweet when you’re hungry for my cock.”

Hanzo can feel himself blush at the words, but he can’t argue--it’s absolutely true. His body just seems to always be keyed-up when Genji is around, always open and extra responsive to his touches; and now is no different. The first press of Genji’s oil-slick fingers at his hole has Hanzo’s nails digging in against the dresser, and he widens his stance as much as he can, trying to spread himself and make it easier for his brother to get inside.

“Good boy, Hanzo,” Genji breathes, easing in one finger up to the knuckle and starting to slowly work him out. “You’ve gotten so tight since I’ve been away...but we can fix that, can’t we?”

Hanzo nods against the dresser, uncaring of how it makes his makeup smear further across his skin and the wood, and angles his hips up to meet Genji’s questing fingers with a hungry noise. He can feel the burn of the second finger being added, the quasi-pleasant sting of the stretch as Genji spreads his fingers and pistons them in faster, forcing Hanzo’s hole to yield and let him in, deeper and deeper, until Genji’s fingers are buried in all the way to the last knuckle. He rocks his hand back and forth, grinding his fingers against Hanzo’s ass just to hear him keen--and when he pulls his fingers out he’s treated to the sight of that worked-slack hole slightly gaping, shining with oil.

And Genji has fumbled his dick out in a matter of seconds.

He doesn’t bother getting fully undressed--he can just pull his robes aside and lower his waistband to let his hard cock bob into the air. He grabs it by the base and runs it between the slick cleft of Hanzo’s ass, smearing the oil around with a purr; and it’s only when Hanzo whines and arches his hips up further, the muscles in his lower back drawn tense with his desire, that Genji finally deigns to nudge his hips forward and press his cock in. 

Hanzo takes it beautifully--his body rolling back to meet the thrust, his fingers digging into the dresser and his toes curling--and Genji pets down his spine as reward for it, slowly pushing in until he’s seated all the way to the base. He gives Hanzo a few heartbeats to breathe, to adjust, before he’s overcome by a hunger that’s only been made more keen by all their time apart; he grabs at Hanzo’s hips and starts to drive into him, rolling his hips in sharp, brisk snaps that have Hanzo moaning, writhing beneath him like something wild.

Genji loves it--loves having something to tame, loves how beautifully Hanzo submits when he’s made to. He doubles over Hanzo’s back and starts to fuck into him faster, deeper, slamming his hips against his brother’s with all the strength he can muster.

“Look at yourself,” Genji growls, grabbing Hanzo’s hair in a loose fist and yanking his head up, forcing him to face his reflection in the mirror--to see the proud actor with his face paint smeared and ruined, his mouth open as he pants, his body littered with red and white marks from Genji’s hands. “Look--that doesn’t look like a kabuki performer, to me. You know what that looks like?”

He slams his hips forward to seat himself to the base deep inside Hanzo’s guts, then leans forward and whispers, “To me, that looks like nothing but a painted whore.”

Hanzo can’t help his weak little moan, and nods his head, eyes half-lidded and fixed on himself in the mirror. He finally looks away from his own smudged face to find Genji in the mirror, his brows furrowed and his head bent, teeth bared and just inches from Hanzo’s shoulder; with a breathy noise Hanzo snakes a hand under himself to grab at his throbbing cock, and starts to stroke himself in time with Genji’s punishing thrusts.

“My painted whore, though,” Genji says, his voice a low and dark thing, his hand leaving Hanzo’s hair to grab at his hips and tug him back into every roll of his hips--with how long it’s been since he’s gotten to feel his brother this way, he knows he won’t last long. But with how Hanzo is panting and moaning beneath him, it doesn’t look like he will, either.

“And you’re going to stay here and let me fuck you, and when I’m done, you’re going to go back on that stage in front of all those people with my cum in your ass.” He gives Hanzo’s ass a slap and smirks at the sight of the supple flesh jiggling under the blow. “Isn’t that right, anija?” 

Hanzo nods frantically, jerking his cock faster and arching his ass backward into the smack, feeling his own orgasm hurtling closer and closer--and when Genji speeds up his thrusts, the rut of his hips going erratic, Hanzo curls his toes and grips his cock tighter and tries to hang on, wanting the pleasure to last as long as it can.

It’s only when Genji cums--when he digs his nails into the meat of Hanzo’s hips and sinks his teeth into the vulnerable skin of Hanzo’s shoulder, his cock pulsing and jetting out thick streams of white deep inside Hanzo’s guts--that Hanzo finally stops edging himself. He lets go of his cock and lets the orgasm wash over him, burying his face against his arms and crying out as his cock paints his belly and chest in thick streams of milky white; and the gentle rocks of Genji’s softening dick within him, his slow, grinding movements, are enough to have his overstimulated nerves set alight. 

“Genji--ah, Genji…” Hanzo squirms where he lies, his knees wobbling beneath him; and Genji chuckles in response, and presses a soft kiss to the skin he’d previously bitten before he slowly pulls himself out. 

Hanzo sags just as soon as Genji steps away, his legs no longer able to hold his weight without his brother’s help--but Genji is there, catching Hanzo around the waist and easing him backward into a chair.

“You look a mess, anija,” he says, smiling as he takes in the state Hanzo’s in--the state Genji has put him in--with his ruined face paint and his wild hair, his spit-shiny lips and cheeks flushed in the places where the bare skin has been made visible. Hanzo manages a weak little scowl at him, sinking down in his chair and letting his eyes close as he tries to recover; and he’s startled back upright by the knock on his door.

“Mr. Shimada!” The stagehand calls, her voice muffled by the closed door. “We’re starting in ten!”

“Shit!” Hanzo scrambles up and starts to grab for his clothes, before catches a glimpse of himself in passing in the mirror--and the sight of his face, his smeared paint and mussed-up hair, has him stopping cold. He whips around again with Genji’s name and a curse on his lips, ready to make his little brother help fix the damage he had caused--

But Genji has vanished just as quietly as he appeared, leaving nothing but the marks the memories behind.


End file.
